


Episode 72: We Change for Those We Love

by PitoyaPTx



Series: Clan Meso'a [72]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Mandalorian, Mandalorian Clan, Mandalorian Culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:42:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27048910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PitoyaPTx/pseuds/PitoyaPTx
Summary: "I should talk to him, then." ~BeunSometimes a gentle hand is better than harsh retribution, especially when it comes to the ones you love.
Series: Clan Meso'a [72]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1261364
Kudos: 1





	Episode 72: We Change for Those We Love

“In the hangar, I think.”   
“Thanks.” Fent gave the Rhodian a pat on the pauldron before he jogged away.   
Anhari’s ship was still a busted hunk of metal on the landing pad, but the fire was out and most of the smoke had blown away in the breeze. How they managed to get it back in that condition was anyone’s guess. It’ll make for a good story once this is all behind us, he thought. Beun and Maceon were sitting on a stack of crates to the far side of the hangar near the landing pad Falstra was currently parked on. Upon his approach, their conversation halted and Maceon got up. She didn’t look at Fent as she passed, and she didn’t look particularly happy. He wanted to ask, but looking at Beun he realized that wasn’t a good idea. Her eyes were misted and he could tell she’d been rubbing her nose. He came up to her and rested his arms on her lap.   
“You alright?”  
She shook her head.   
“What’s going on?”  
She gave a mirthless smirk, “She and I were just talking about your favorite person.”   
He grinned, “You?”  
“Beon.”   
He let his head drop. “Right,” he sighed, “Beun about that. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about it for a while.”   
“I know. I could tell.” She crossed her arms and leaned back against the higher stack of crates behind her.   
He looked up at her, into her blazing orange eyes, and steeled himself.   
“Beon’s my best friend, my brother even, Beun. I just,” he gestured, “sometimes I wonder why you treat him like that, like he can’t just...be Beon sometimes.”   
She didn’t respond, watching him in a way that from his perspective looked like she was calculating something.   
“It’s not good for him,” Fent continued, “He’s all screwed up. He doesn’t speak his mind as much anymore.”   
“And that’s my fault?”  
He shrugged, “You’re not helping, that’s for sure.”   
She sighed, “Fent I,” she paused, trying to find the words before settling on, “I’m not good with-”   
“Other people’s emotions?” he suggested.   
She frowned at him, but then she chuckled. “Yeah. I guess, when it was just him and me, I was… I don’t know.”   
He wrapped his arms around her middle and pulled her closer to him.   
“I was scared,” she admitted, leaning against his shoulder and resting her head in the crook of his neck, “He was so impulsive, so just-”   
“Beon?”  
She nodded, “He just wanted to help. Wanted to be there for everyone, even when it risked his personal safety, and when he couldn’t-”   
“He’d get frustrated.”   
She sat up, “Oh don’t get me started on that. He once broke his arm helping one of you lot out of some sinkhole and all he could think about was how he hadn’t seen it sooner!”   
“Beun-”   
“Anytime he thinks he could help, could do something, but hasn’t, he’s in a funk for a week,” she dragged her hands down her face, “And I know that’s not a bad thing sometimes, but that attitude was likely to get him killed!”   
“Beun-”   
“So when you told me about Cara I knew it was that all over again, worse than that.”   
“Worse than after the war?”   
She gave a weary nod. “When he found out about our parents, he didn’t eat for a week.”   
“I remember.”   
“So forgive me if I tried to toughen him up. Tried to get him to realize that he can’t live like that.”   
Fent shook his head, “But he doesn’t. Beun, your brother might make some dumb decisions if he thinks it will help someone, but trust me, he’s a lot smarter than you give him credit for.” He added, when she rolled her eyes, “His gut is normally right, plus I think it keeps him level headed. Do you know how many times he’s played diplomat to get us out of tough spots?”   
She shrugged.   
“A lot, trust me.”   
She sighed. “I just… worry about him.”   
“And this is how you’ve decided to show it?”   
She sighed again. “Is it that bad?”  
He nodded. She rubbed her eyes on the heels of her hands.   
“But,” he said, straightening up so they were eye-level with each other, “If you really want to help him, really want to keep him from doing something stupid, you need to be there for him right now, because… he’s not in a good place.”   
“I... don’t know what to do.”   
“What did Maceon say?”   
Beun shook her head, “She and I… didn’t talk about Beon. Not at first.”   
“About Nat?”  
She nodded.   
“Why?”  
She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close, putting their foreheads together.   
“Because,” she breathed, “I don’t want to lose Beon like we lost her.”   
Fent searched her eyes, but she avoided his gaze.   
“What do you mean?”   
She closed her eyes.   
“Fent,” she said, her voice shaking, “We lost her to the Meso’a.” 

A light rain roused the woman from her daydream. She peered out the barred window at the rolling hills cast in the shadow of night behind her...home. Was it really a home if she was trapped here? She sighed and reached up lazily, scraping a piece of slate against the wall and adding to the growing number of tally marks covering her wall. The stone cracked. Her knuckles scraped against the rough rock. She sighed again and tossed the stone in a pile of similarly cracked ones. The part of her that paced the room was gone. The part of her that put on a song and danced the evening away was gone. The part of her that longed for home… well, that wasn’t gone yet. Was anyone even looking for her? It didn’t matter, she told herself, she’d run out of space to tally those thoughts a long time ago.   
She slid off the windowsill and walked across the room to the kitchenette. An icy handful of water sounded nice. Rain always turned the place into a sauna and she couldn’t open the windows to vent it out. The air conditioner was loud and gave her a headache, but for a moment she considered it. She paused where she was, halfway between the kitchenette and the back wall where the fan control was. How many times she’d longingly stared at it, she’d lost count. She’d traced the shape of the panel, counted the indicator lights for the speed, temperature, and filter status. She’d even measured it, not with any tools, but by how many pores in the wall there were around it. She sighed and approached the tap. A headache during a thunderstorm was the last thing she wanted. The last time she did that was the first time. For hours, she felt like she was going to die from the head pressure. By the end of the night, she’d turned off the fan and had her head in the cooler.  
As she turned on the tap, she glanced at it. She was due for another shipment of food, one that wouldn’t arrive until the morning. They never waivered, never neglected to bring her supplies. So long as she cooperated, so long as she didn’t make a run for it, they left her alone. The guards downstairs never came up to speak to her unless directed to. In fact, no one came to speak to her. The only thing that kept her from losing her voice was to sing. Whatever heart she had behind it was gone. It became part of her routine much like situps or laps around the room. It wasn’t like she was going anywhere. All of her petitions to the Alor fell on deaf ears a long time ago. She didn’t even know who the Alor was or what the power structure of the clan looked like. No one told her anything and she didn’t have much contact with the outside world other than sometimes seeing children playing in the field. She knew she’d been there long enough for a few of those children to have children of their own, although that wasn’t the best judgement of time. She wasn’t that good at guessing the ages of non-Togruta. Not anymore, at least. Days blended together, and the only thing breaking up the monotony was the changing of seasons. Judging by the storm, fall was upon them.   
The cool water on her face and neck was refreshing and just jarring enough to wake her from her daze. She bit back a curse as a few drops slid down into her kute. Shivering, she grabbed the towel beside the sink to dabbed up the excess water that slipped past her lekku. She’d just thrown it back on the counter when she heard footsteps coming up the stairs. She sighed.   
“Away from the door,” said the same voice as always.   
“I’m going,” she muttered back, moving to the table and sitting on top of it, “I’m away.”   
The door slid open and the two guards entered, both humans or near humans seeing as neither had horns or lekku or any helmet modification that would suggest otherwise. They wore the same teal-and-orange helmets, the same red plumes, the same fur collar and pectoral, the same kit and kama. She peered around them, expecting the crew who normally brought her food, but didn’t see them.   
“What is it?” she asked, fighting her instinct to grab the blaster that wasn’t on her hip.   
They didn’t respond and instead moved to either side of the door. She braced herself, but kept her head held high as though she wasn’t calculating an escape route. Her plans fell apart when she heard the scraping sound of unfamiliar footsteps on the stone stairs. They were slow, labored even, and the first thing she saw was an armored hand grasping the railing. Next came a pair of large, orange montril that were knobbled and covered in old scars. The newcomer entered the chamber slightly out of breath, although he appeared healthy. She studied him, noting how he was favoring his left leg. She could exploit that if necessary, although she wasn’t sure if she could get past the guards in her condition. She gestured to the room.   
“Welcome to my...prison.”   
He didn’t move. His eyes were fixed on hers as though he was trying to figure something out. She forced a smile.   
“And you are? You’re not like the others I’ve seen.”   
He didn’t reply. She fidgeted with the frayed ends of her fingerless gloves. His armor wasn’t too dissimilar from the others, but there was a big difference: while theirs was all teal, his was orange and he had a stomach plate carved and painted with a design that reminded her of a large white eye set in a brown expanse. He put a hand to his chin and approached her slowly. She got up from the table.   
“Hey-”   
He grabbed her shoulders, his face so close to hers she could smell the rain soaked into his shoulder furs. She didn’t falter under his scrutiny, but she found herself holding her breath until he let her go. When he did, his face crumpled into an expression of grief.   
“You,” he said, his voice hoarse, “Your father, Am’jiik.”   
She blinked, “Jiik...his,” she stared at him, “Jiik..yes his..he’s...what?”  
The older warrior pulled a small holodisk from a side pouch and clicked it on. The image of an even older Togruta missing the tip of his left montril plumed between them. Her eyes grew wide.   
“He...that’s,” she clasped a hand over her mouth, “How do you-”   
“My brother,” Taerh’a let out a sob, “He’s my brother!”   
She shook her head, tried to will the tears back but she couldn’t. He set the disk on the table and pulled her into his arms.   
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said over and over, “You don’t belong here.”   
She stood there, stunned as tears stung her eyes.   
“I… don’t-”   
He pulled back but held her at arm’s length, “Believe me. I… I thought he was lost.”   
She shook her head and tapped her fist on his breastplate. “What are you saying? What do you… I’ve been here for-for-”   
“I’m sorry, ner’ad, I’m sorry,” he hugged her again. She shook her head, but when he pulled back again, there was no denying it. She knew that face, his face. It was like she’d stared at that face forever, like she’d stared at her father’s....

And she wept.


End file.
